


In the Quiet

by WrynnsBlade



Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en, 西遊 | Journey to the West (Chow Movies)
Genre: Consent, M/M, NSFW, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 00:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrynnsBlade/pseuds/WrynnsBlade
Summary: The group stops to rest at a clearing. Once night falls, urges rise.





	In the Quiet

            How rare was it during their journey that they could get a short moment of peace? Each pilgrim was worn from the road, from the unceasing battles of keeping their master safe. Even their master was looking rather ragged, as handsome as he was. So when they come to a stop in a rather safe looking clearing in the woods, each of the pilgrims start picking out their spots, knowing that they’ll be alright for a couple of days.

            WuKong’s spot was away from the fire, next to a tree and comfortably hidden in shadows. It was a strategic spot, one that allowed him to observe and protect the group best. He could always attack any demons or stray animals that wandered into their camp and be done with them before they knew what hit them. It was situated at the north of their little camp, and the tree he was next to was large and strong looking.

            WuJing selected a spot towards the eastern section of the camp. The dirt was moist there but not quite mud, comfortable for the fish to rest upon and into should he cocoon himself in a layer. He wouldn’t dirty his clothes too badly, and he even got the benefit of being able to rest with the sounds of the river nearby comforting him. It was the most beneficial spot for the fish to rest in, and he was pleased to have it. WuKong was also pleased, as WuJing had an odd ear to being able to find water wherever they were, and it allowed him to pass on the duty of gathering water to the youngest disciple.

            Pigsy was at the south western section of the camp, closest to their things. He was terribly mistrusting of people, and even moreso of stray demons that might come to collect their things. So he always stayed close to White Dragon Horse, and as insurance, no harm ever came to their possessions. Pilgrim Sun didn’t often take comfort in such protectiveness over their personal items, mainly because everything he owned was the clothes on his back and the staff hidden in his ear, but he was glad that he didn’t have to bother with responsibility over such a thing.

            The most important person of their group was closest to the fire. Finding comfort in the warming flames and being able to see, the pitiful human clung almost desperately to his makeshift blanket that never really covered all of him. Sanzang was fully visible, surrounded by the maddest of butchers, the most insane of demons, and the most childish disciples he’d ever had to teach. But they tried their best, and they protected him well enough, so he thinks it’s alright.

            Settling down as the sun sets, he can see that WuJing was already making his cocoon of moist dirt, and Pigsy was settling next to Longma. WuKong he couldn’t see at all. Not until the monkey opens his eyes. The glittering of red, the cracking of a molten brow were enough to tell him that the King was well aware of the monk’s stare. He stares back at the bald man, and with a shiver Sanzang realizes that WuKong has never known to fear humans. Was that odd for an animal? Absolutely. But WuKong wasn’t just a monkey. No, he was a _demon_. And when red, glittering eyes close, Sanzang feels like he can breathe again.

            How strange, he thinks, surrounded by demons, and yet the worst one was his best protector. And as the day passed into night, the sun being swallowed by the horizon and the moon cresting high above them, the monk shivers once more: Night did not belong to humans. It never did. It belonged to demons. To evil things. And this pitiful fire wouldn’t help him much, but it gave him a small comfort as he settles into his place to sleep.

            When Sanzang wakes next, he’s not sure of what wakes him. The fire burns low, too low to see by.  He can hear Pigsy snoring. He can hear the steady breathing of Longma. He can hear WuJing’s odd trill as he drifts from dream to dream. The moon is high enough and bright enough to cast just enough light for him to try to find his first disciple by. And as he squints, straining his human sight to see where WuKong was, he wasn’t too sure of what to make of it.

            The King was leaning up against the tree, his long, tapered fingers being chewed on between teeth too white and perfect to be human. He’d taken to his human form, though Sanzang couldn’t fathom _why_. At least, not at first. He can see that WuKong’s eyes were closed, his brow furrowed as he concentrates on _something_. Though what that something was, Sanzang didn’t even want to try to figure it out. The monkey’s breathing is quiet, forcibly so, as if he were trying to conceal his breath—

            The monk feels like lightning strikes him, the enlightenment of what he was _witnessing_ is so shocking. He couldn’t even breathe his prayer, so shocking it was to witness an act. The pants WuKong wore were tugged to something more _workable_ , shifted so that the material bunched around his knees instead of something _decent_. Sanzang watches as the monkey strokes himself, slow and exaggerated motions, as if he were savoring such sensations. Perhaps he was. This would be one of the few safest times during their journey that he could get away with such an act.

            WuKong was stiff, admirably so, even in such a human form. Proportionate to his body, he wasn’t overly large or overly long. Instead, he seemed to be a rather comfortable size, something that he could definitely please partners with if he so chose. The thought makes the priest consider what sort of acts the monkey could’ve been apart of before. And he realizes that he could easily fathom the King with either sex, so flexible he was. Sanzang flushes, unable to pull his gaze away from the monkey.

            When Pilgrim Sun’s fingers pause, the monk could only wonder at why. He had a couple of blessed moments of ignorance before he _felt_ it. The searing, heavy gaze that belonged to no other than his first disciple. Meekly, the monk raises his gaze, knowing he was caught. Instead of facing anger, or even the slightest bit of shyness or disappointment, he was met with amusement. _Let it be never said that WuKong has any shame_. _Insufferable ape._

            The fingers that muffled the King slip from his mouth and he crooks them at his master. **Come hither**. The invitation makes him nearly splutter, his eyes wide. Does he dare? Does he want to participate in such a sinful act? What would he even _do_? And, as the bald monk considers his options, he realizes something. His first disciple had never done anything to him that he _disliked_. And he always **stopped** when asked. Perhaps this would be the same?

            Curiosity eating away at the monk, he shifts and rises. He does so in such a quiet fashion that he’s almost proud of himself. And he closes the distance between himself and the Great Sage, flushed and almost shy. But terribly confident that he could leave when he decided to. Crouching by WuKong’s side, he wasn’t even sure of what to say, much less of what to do. The look on his face was more than enough invitation for the King to take over.

            He drapes an arm around the monk’s shoulder, tugging him against his side. “If I weren’t so honest,” WuKong murmurs, his mouth pressed against the shell of Sanzang’s ear. “I would’ve gotten off if you kept staring at me so openly.” Sanzang nearly chokes, and WuKong’s breathy chuckle does things to him that makes him want to start _praying_. That sound **alone** should be a sin. “But I figured, why not _invite_ you to learn a thing or two, hah?”

            And WuKong proceeded to do just that. He directs the monk, his voice low and warm and drunk on sensations, to touch him. “Just wrap your hand around mine, hm? We’ll see how this goes. At the very least, I’ll still have _my_ fun.” And if the monk disliked it, he could pull away at any time he needed. It was fair, he thinks. Tentatively, he reaches, his hand wrapping around WuKong’s. His fingers fit in between the spaces WuKong leaves him, and he doesn’t try to think too hard on what he was doing.

            WuKong sighs, quiet and slow, before he begins moving again. Sanzang nearly startles, the monkey’s stiffness hot and twitching just a bit under his fingers. He watches, curious, as WuKong gradually increases the pace, his face slowly burying into the monk’s shoulder. Sanzang can feel the monkey’s mouth open, his teeth seeking something to bite down on. Using his free hand, Sanzang bunches the material of his robe so WuKong could find purchase. The appreciative hum that follows tells him that it was a wise decision.

            The King suddenly shifts, and he’s tugged a bit closer—though how much closer did WuKong really expect to pull him? He was nearly on his lap as it was, and it would be _terribly_ awkward if he was tugged further on top of him—and he could feel WuKong’s fingers tighten just a bit. He was going _faster_ , their fingers touching and squeezing and unrelenting as he hears Pilgrim Sun’s breathing start to get erratic. It’s a light sweat that beads on the monkey’s brow, his eyes squeezing tightly as the rhythm from before becomes broken, desperate and _needy_ now.

            “Just let go,” Sanzang murmurs. It’s the first words he says to WuKong, and he’s surprised to hear himself so husky. But it’s enough. The monkey _jerks_ , his hips suddenly shuddering and his body shivering as he _gasps_. His teeth clamp down tight, more of the monk’s robe being tugged into his mouth. The monk can still hear his muffled whimpers, desperate and _needy_ as he finally gets off. When the King slows and stops, he’s struggling to conceal his breathing once more.

            The bald monk is patient with him, giving him time to collect himself before the King pulls away. WuKong’s shoulders were slumped, and he seems more relaxed now than what he was before. Sanzang adjusts his robes, smoothing them out easily enough. “You know,” he mumbles, tugging up his pants and adjusting himself as needed. “Elder, if you have the _urge_ —” It was natural, he thinks, to have urges such as this. And he quiets WuKong with a look. The Great Sage raises his hands, his lips still curled in amusement. “The offer is there.”

            And so it was. Having relations with his disciples wasn’t looked down upon. Matter of fact, it was encouraged to tighten the bonds between them. But Sanzang didn’t typically have such urges. Not with Duan, not with his other disciples. Perhaps, given a bit more time, he might have such urges with WuKong. “And so it is,” he states. “I might take you up on it. But not now.” Not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Sanzang takes quite a bit to be riled up. Maybe I'll explore it another time! After some WuKong maybe engaging in some clone fucking but that's for another one shot.


End file.
